Lesser Evil

Disclaimer: X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox
Broadcasting Network. Thanks to Stephanie, Diane and Shirley for their input
and encouragement.

Warning: This is Muldertorture, Krycek-style, with slashy tendencies. If you
are offended by rape, torture, enemas (yes, I said enemas), dreadful language
and short sex scenes written by repressed women, don't go here. Anyone left?
Okay. Enjoy.

Spoilers: November 2, 1997

Please ask author's permission to archive.

Summary: What really happened after the fourth season finale.

Lesser Evil

by Jen

"Like the coldest winter chill, heaven beside you, Hell within
And you wish you had it still, heaven inside you."
Alice In Chains

Mulder raked his hands through his hair, brought them both to his face to wipe
away the tears. But he couldn't wipe away the grief; or the guilt.

"What the hell did he say to you, that you believe his story?" he'd demanded
of Scully earlier.

"He said that the men behind this hoax," Scully answered softly, "behind these
lies, gave me this disease to make you believe." Her eyes shone with tears, but
her voice carried no blame, no condemnation. Ohgodohgod. She hadn't needed to
say it; it was he who'd fired that malignant bullet into her brain.

Sharp knocking at the door startled Mulder out of his self-recriminations.
Sighing, he moved toward the door, realizing the knocking had been going on for
awhile before he acknowledged it. A glance through the peephole revealed a
fishbowl view of Scully's concerned face. His beautiful, tragic Scully, dying
because she was unwise enough to name him her friend. He opened the door.

And was greeted by the barrel of a gun shining an inch from his nose.

Mulder's eyes traveled past the leather gloved hand and up the arm that held
the gun, resting on the face of its owner. Krycek. Glance bounced back and
forth. What was Scully doing with Krycek. Mulder reached for her, his eyes
reflecting the pain of her betrayal.

Scully cocked her brow down at Mulder's hand, but made no move to take it.

"Back into the apartment." Krycek snarled, pressing the gun barrel into
Mulder's temple and forcing him backwards. They followed him in and Krycek
kicked the door closed behind him.

"Lace your fingers behind your neck." he ordered. Mulder complied. The gun dug
into his head. "Get on your knees."

"Scully..?" Mulder whispered, eyes imploring her to take it back, to say it
was all a joke. Her return gaze held only mild curiosity.

"I said, get on your knees!" The gun swung across Mulder's cheekbone, Mulder
stumbled backward, landing on his butt and elbows. He threw his arms up to
protect his face as Krycek rushed him, swinging an angry kick into his side.
The blow forced a grunt out of him. He rolled several times then scrambled to
his feet, felt the gun barrel again at his temple. He froze.

Krycek used the gun to push the agent's head downward. "Lace your fingers
behind your neck and get onto your knees." he repeated. Mulder obeyed, eyes on
Scully to be sure she was going to allow this. She barely noticed.

Reaching into his leather jacket and removing a pair of handcuffs, Krycek bent
and snapped the first cuff around Mulder's right wrist, pulled the cuff down,
twisting his former partner's arm around and down into the small of his back.
Brought the other hand down and around and snapped on the left cuff.
Straightened.

"What do you want, Krycek?" Mulder hissed, twisting his head up and around to
see his enemy.

"I want you to tell me where your gun is."

"Why?"

Krycek answer was another backhand with the gun barrel. Blood flew from the
agent's nose and mouth. He reeled forward, but managed to retain his balance.

"Where's the fucking gun?"

Mulder closed his eyes.

"Do I have to hit you again?"

A slight hesitation, then, "It's in my holster, hanging on the coat tree."

Krycek nodded Scully in the direction of the coat tree. She retrieved the
weapon, holding it awkwardly in front of her. Handed it to Krycek, who asked
her, "Now, can you do him?"

Mulder's brows drew together and he looked back at Scully, awaiting her
answer. Scully's outlines shimmered, flowed loosely and liquidy like heat
waves. Her form swelled and melted and elongated, nose lengthened, eyes
narrowed. Red hair shrank and turned brown. As he watched, the thing that had
been Scully became himself.

Understanding was born, of what happened and what would come next.

"Eddie, is that you?" Mulder asked. Only months before, he and Scully
investigated and convicted a mutant human named Eddie Van Blundht, whose sole
talent was using his mutation to shape shift into the likeness of other people.
Eddie used his talent to seduce women by impersonating the men in their lives.
Eddie very nearly seduced Scully by becoming Mulder. Still pissed him off to
think about it. Eddie/Mulder smiled and nodded agreeably.

"Run, Eddie!" Mulder stage whispered. "Run, he's going to kill you!" Grunted
as he received a sharp kick to the small of his back.

Eddie's eyes widened, he looked at Krycek to confirm the truth of Mulder's
words. His mouth dropped open and he turned to flee. Blood blossomed at his
temple and the top of his head flew off before the turn could be executed. He
fell to the floor. Eddie was dead, but he died looking like Mulder. Blood and
brains seeped into the rug.

Krycek bent to place Mulder's gun in Eddie's outstretched hand. Mulder's
suicide was successfully staged.

Fear fluttered in Mulder's stomach. He licked his lips and looked up at his
captor. "What do you want from me?" he repeated.

"Well," Krycek breathed, fisting a handful of Mulder's hair and forcing his
head backward. He brought his nose a breath away from the agent's. "The first
thing I want is to fuck you..."

"No!" Mulder cried, twisting to loosen Krycek's hold on him.

Krycek gripped his hair tighter, then slammed the other man's head into his
knee. Bright pain exploded in Mulder's head and he slumped sideways to the
floor. Krycek drew back his leg and landed a brutal kick to the fallen man's
side. Mulder shouted hoarsely.

The beating stopped. Mulder panted, eyes closed against the pain. Krycek
dropped to one knee. "Can't have you waking the neighbors, honey." He produced
a roll of duct tape and placed a strip across Mulder's mouth. The injured man's
eyes popped open. Krycek unzipped the agent's jeans and pulled them off with
hideous efficiency. Mulder didn't resist, afraid of provoking another beating.
He was flipped onto his stomach.

Boots kicked his legs apart. Krycek crouched behind him. Knees spread his
thighs even farther apart. He growled low in his throat when Krycek grabbed his
hips to lift his pelvis slightly. One arm slipped underneath his waist to
support him in this position.

"Ever been fucked in the ass, Fox? Or am I your first?"

Shivered as a thumb rubbed up and down his crack, feeling for his anus. The
thumb found its target. Mulder inhaled a shocked breath when it sank deeply
into him, then grunted when it pulled suddenly out. He lunged forward, trying
to slip out of Krycek's grasp. Krycek's arm tightened around his waist. "You're
not getting away from me, Fox." breathed moistly into his ear. Mulder heard his
spit into his hand, felt wetness as it was rubbed into the crack of his ass.
Krycek's erection pressed against his cheeks, nudged into the opening of his
rectum. He moaned his protest.

Krycek slammed his first thrust home. Steel agony pierced Mulder and he arched
his back and screamed behind his gag. Krycek slid halfway out, pushed home
again. Another muted scream. Jesus, Jesus, how big was he? Felt more like a
knife than a dick.

Krycek released his waist, grasped both hips and increased the speed and
strength of his thrusts. Short barks of pain escaped Mulder's nostrils each
time Krycek's hips slammed into his ass. He was being ripped up, he could feel
blood now between his legs. The pounding went on and on. Nausea gripped him and
the room tilted sickeningly.

Then he knew no more.

*****

Scully hugged her knees and rocked back and forth back and forth on her couch.
Comforting herself, who was she kidding??? She would never be comfortable
again. She cried and cried and kept remembering his face like he'd been slapped
when she told him.

Why had she tried so hard to convince him? Was the truth so valuable?

Was the lie so bad that his death was preferable? She couldn't swallow the
lump in her throat, kept seeing his beautiful face marred by his final, violent
act of self-hatred.

Rocked and keened, keened and rocked.

Remembered softly his sweetest moments, hooking a shy finger on her necklace
after Tooms' polygraph to let her know how much he really needed her, maybe
loved her, a little. Smiling at her self consciously when she woke from her
coma, voice cracking with emotion when he returned her cross. He'd raved and
raged when she was comatose, Melissa told her. Now Melissa was dead and so was
Mulder.

Remembered Mulder laughingly suggesting she might find a boyfriend in the
woods of Oregon. Mulder hissing that he *didn't* trust them, but he *wanted* to
trust her. Mulder holding a gun in Krycek's face, screaming that he'd kill him.
Mulder leaning into her, his lips a brush away from hers.......not
Mulder.......Eddie.

"Omigod." she whispered, tried not to hope too hard as she rushed to her phone.

Ringing, then, "Skinner."

"Thank god you're there, Sir, I need..."

"Scully, you need to rest."

"But Sir, we need...I need to perform an autopsy on Mulder."

"Scully, that's hardly necessary; or appropriate."

"But I think it may not be him."

Silence on the other end of the line.

"Remember Eddie Van Blundht, Sir?" He fooled us both for days impersonating
Mulder. Maybe..."

"Scully, it's unlikely. I know you're upset, we all are. Don't try to kid
yourself with false..."

"Sir, he could be alive! If there is the tiniest chance, I have to know. I
need to know."

More silence, then, "Alright. I'll meet you down at the hospital in an hour."

"Thank you, Sir."

*****

He woke up hurting and naked and cold in a cell.

Krycek held up one wall, arms folded across his chest, opposite the cot where
Mulder lay. He grinned down at his prisoner. "Hello, Fox."

Mulder wanted to jump up and punch that stupid ass grin off of Krycek's face,
but he didn't dare. He looked around the cell at the concrete walls, ceiling
and door. There was a drain in the center of the floor. No knob on the inside
of the steel door. No windows, no immediately obvious avenue of escape. He
moistened dry, swollen lips with his tongue and asked, "Where are we?"

Krycek pushed off the wall and strolled toward Mulder. "The Las Vegas Hilton."
He reached down and hooked his finger under Mulder's neck, pulled and suddenly,
Mulder was choking, his eyes bulging. His fingers flew up to claw at the choke
collar. Krycek blew an impatient breath, "Get up, you idiot." he said mildly.
He let up a little on the collar.

Eyes never leaving Krycek's treacherous face, Mulder held his bruised ribs and
eased into a slumped sitting position. The room swirled briefly around him, he
closed his eyes and breathed calming breaths into his lap. A clicking sound
popped his eyes open, Krycek snapped a leash onto the choke chain around his
neck.

Mulder's left arm struck snakequick, looped the leash around his forearm twice
and yanked Krycek to his knees in front of him. Krycek's face curled into a
snarl, his left hand came around to Mulder's throat and lifted him up and
against the wall behind him with inhuman strength. Mulder struggled, gagged,
kicked. Fell heavily to the cot when released. Doubled over coughing and
retching.

Krycek waited until the fit subsided. "C'mon, Fox. They're waiting for you."

Mulder was led into a tile room. Perusal revealed plumbing fixtures, hoses,
stalls, drains. "Oh boy," he muttered, "we're partying now."

A stall equipped with a hand held shower head and manacles hanging from a
chain in the ceiling became their destination. Mulder hung his head under the
chains. Coughed. Krycek pushed a button on a wall panel, the chains above
Mulder lowered with a hydraulic whine.

"Lift your arms" Mulder stared dully. Krycek tripled the leash in his right
hand quickly, pulled until Mulder's face was kissing distance, pistoned his
left fist into his captive's bruised ribs.

Mulder cried out softly, doubled, knees buckling. Krycek looked down at the
dark bent head of his prisoner, said, "You can't win. Even if you could get
away from me, which you can't, you're in the bowels of a consortium facility.
There's no escape. So, stand up and lift your arms and quit making me beat you
every step of the way."

Mulder stood shakily when the chain around his neck tightened. He lifted his
arms over his head but wouldn'twouldn't open his eyes. Cold steel enclosed his
wrists and the hydraulics whined again, lifting him up off his feet. Gasped at
the bite of metal in his wrists, at the staccato of pain singing though his
arms and neck and back. Clenching neck muscles pulled his head back and his
body glittered with sweat.

Krycek gazed up at him. "That hurts, huh? Don't worry, this won't take too
long." He disappeared and Mulder heard water sounds while he stared at his
hands. Krycek returned, stood behind him. Mulder felt a thin plastic violation
of his anus. He moaned low as cold cramping water rushed suddenly into his
pelvis. The plastic withdrew, spilling the entire contents of his intestines
violently onto the tiles beneath him.

"Jesus, what the fuck are, what the FUCK was that for?" Mulder demanded,
twisting right and left, trying to face his captor.

Krycek concentrated on his work with the shower head, spraying down Mulder's
legs. "I'm trying to save you the indignity of shitting yourself later. You
ought to thank me."

"Why?" Mulder shouted. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing. My job was to bring you here, get you ready."

"Was it your job to rape me?" Mulder taunted.

"No." Krycek smiled. "That was my pleasure."

*****

Scully tied on the surgical mask as she entered the room. Skinner had arrived
before her. Their eyes locked, both studiously avoiding looking down at the
corpse lying cold between them.

"I ran his fingerprints. It's Mulder." Skinner said.

She bit her lower lip to still its quivering. Tried not to allow her last
shred of hope to wither. "I know..." her voice broke and she had to start
again, "I know it seems like a waste of time, but I need to do this."

"A decidedly morbid waste of time, Scully."

She studied her hands as she searched her mind desperately for a reason, a
logical reason to continue, one that would convince Skinner.

She didn't have a reason, not based on logic. But she felt, no, she *knew'*
that she had to complete this autopsy. Scully, Queen of Reason, was caught in
the grip of intuition. She settled on the truth. "I can't let him go until I do
this." she told her hands. Lifted her chin to meet Skinner's disapproval.

Met instead his expression of sympathy and it almost undid her. Sighed
raggedly and dropped her gaze to the subject. She had to think of it as the
subject, if she so much as thought his name... Brought the dictaphone up to her
mouth and flipped the record switch as she drew back the sheet that covered the
body. "Subject is a 35-year-old Caucasian male..." Her voice quavered on the
last word and she felt a gentle touch on her elbow. She felt her face twist
with grief. Another deep breath. She was a professional.

"Subject is a 35-year-old Caucasian male. HEENT: Upper cranium has been..."
her voice trailed off and eyebrows snapped together. "Wait a minute.: She
reached a trembling index finger. "Look at the angle of the entry wound...it
isn't possible that this was self-inflicted. And look here!"

Skinner leaned in for a closer look and she leaned, too, shadowing his
movement. He jumped at her gasp. "Sir, look!" she announced, touching the left
shoulder of the corpse, where on Mulder, there was a scar from the bullet she
shot into him. "There's no scar here!" She laughed a little; a rare, ethereal
sound from Scully, "It's not him!"

Skinner mirrored her smile briefly, then they both sobered.

"Sir, they have him." she said.

"Hmmmph. And who might 'they' be, Agent Scully?"

"I don't know who they are. They're the men whose secret agenda has been
dictating all of our actions for God knows how long. Men who have obviously
conceived and executed an elaborate plan designed to make us believe that
Mulder is dead. They painstakingly constructed an alien corpse, have murdered
this person lying here to that end. So that they could have Mulder and we would
never know. The question that terrifies me is...what do they want with him?"

"I don't know, Scully."

*****

He took trembly reluctant steps in front of Krycek, goaded occasionally by
stiff fingers between his shoulder blades. Stumbled through an antiseptic maze
that ended in a lablike room with metal tables, surgical instruments, I.V.s,
more horrors that could be comprehended at one glance. He stopped dead, tried
to back up.

"No, Fox!" and as Mulder panicked, swinging wild fists, Krycek tugged on the
leash to gain control and attendants in scrubs came running to assist.

Slapped onto a metal table, wrists and waist and ankles were belted in leather
restraints. Krycek unhooked the leash, wrapped it in his fist, slid into the
background. Mulder tried to look everywhere at once as people swarmed busily
around him in surgical masks. He cried,

"No!" when an I.V. needle sank into his forearm, taped down despite his
protests. He doubled slightly at the silver pain of a catheter being inserted.
Electrodes went on his temples, his chest. His breath came too quickly, he
looked around frantically for Krycek, a familiar, if hated, face. "Krycek!" he
called, "Where are you?" An oxygen tube was attached to his face. He shook his
head back and forth. "Stop it, you fuckers! Don't touch me!"

Krycek's face appeared above him. "Calm down, now, Fox." he soothed, brushing
the hair out of Mulder's wild eyes. "There's nothing you can do, so save your
strength."

Mulder went slack, suddenly, panting. There was nothing he could do, but
endure...whatever was going to happen and Krycek was right, he would need his
strength.

A face behind a surgical mask appeared next to Krycek's. "Hello, Fox.

I'm Dr. Falkenberg. We'll be working together." Working together? What a
euphemism. Falkenberg turned a switch on the I.V. tube leading into Mulder's
arm, releasing clear fluid to flow through the tube into Mulder's vein.
"Please..." Mulder's voice wavered.

"This is an experimental drug. A subject can, under treatment, endure
significantly higher levels of pain and injury before succumbing to shock and
death. We've had huge success in the trials so far. Huge." The physician turned
to Krycek. "He should make a good, strong test subject. By the way, how is the
arm?"

Krycek looked down at his left hand, fisted and flexed it, turned palm
downward to inspect the backside. "Good. Better than the original. Thanks."

"Good. Good." came the response. He turned to his assistants. "We'll, lets get
started. We've got lots of work to do."

"I can't watch this." Krycek interrupted. "Beep me when he's ready to go back
to his cell."

*****

Light and movement threatened. He wanted nothing to do with it. Consciousness
was bad, consciousness pretty much fucking sucked. But forming this thought
brought him all the way back and he heard himself moan.

"Fox?"

Mulder squinted his eyes open to Krycek's hovering face.

"How do you feel?"

That question might have been funny, hysterical even, if he felt slightly less
bad. As it was, the question brought horrified tears.

Mulder clenched into a fetal position facing the wall away from Krycek. The
tiniest movement burned, yeah, he hurt everywhere, no one place discriminated
against.

They cut him with a scalpel. Deep slices that he didn't feel right away, that
were halfway done before the pain came. His terrified screams didn't stop them.
Some of them used ear plugs, he noticed, to spare themselves from having to
hear him. Each cut was laser cauterized quickly to keep blood loss to a
minimum, Falkenberg had explained. The laser was the worse because it burned it
was fire fucking concentrated fire. The cuts they were unable to cauterize
closed, they stapled shut.

Legs, arms, torso. Smelling salts revived him when he passed out. Over and
over again. Until the monitor alarm finally blew and a frantically waving Tech
shouted, "Okay, stop! He's gonna arrest if we don't stop!"

"Do you want some water?" Head shook in response. "You don't have to, you were
given saline, you won't dehydrate." Humiliating tears slipped gently down his
face, children of fear and horror and sickening agony.

"Do you want to hear a story, Fox?" Didn't wait for an answer, it wasn't
coming. "Back in Tunguska, after I jumped off the truck, I ran. I didn't want
to be found by the gulag authorities. I may be well connected in the KGB and
the consortium, but to those people, I was just a fast talking American. I was
afraid that if they caught me, they'd hurt me for having brought you there.
Like they hurt you."

"So I ran. Right into a group of one-armed guys. No shit. Their knotted empty
left sleeves terrified me."

Mulder sniffed a little. Shifted slightly toward him.

"But they said they could protect me and I believed them. They were young men,
boys, really. Not old enough or mean enough yet to lie. So, I nodded in relief
and we ate together and later I slept." Krycek fell silent.

Mulder looked at him. Saw the jaw muscle flex. Relax. Flex. "What happened?"
he croaked.

Deep sigh, then, "I woke to them all over me, sawing off my left arm with a
glowing hot knife. The arms was a third of the way off before I knew what was
happening." He looked down at his left hand, flexed it, scowling. "The worst
part was the joint, you know. They had to, kind of, work it back and forth to
get it to break. To separate."

Mulder grunted, turned back to the wall.

"I wanted to kill you after that. I wanted to find you, hurt you, torture you.
Hell, I had the means. I had the resources of the consortium behind me. The old
man thought he was my superior. Huh, he knows better now." Krycek turned to
face Mulder. "But now..." he frowned, turned silently away.

A pause, then, "What? Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Fuck you, Krycek."
Mulder rasped. "Fuck you! Do you think that because you were stupid enough to
get your stupid ass arm cut off that I'm going to forgive you for having me
tortured?" voice cracked on the last word. "What are you saying? Your boo boo
is bigger than mine? I got news for you, asshole. You still have two arms!"

Krycek snorted laughter.

A turning key in the door lock whitened Mulder's face. Dr. Falkenberg entered
the cell. Nodded to Krycek, turned to Mulder, who, despite the pain it must
have cost him, sprang up and backed himself deeply into the corner. Knees up,
head down. He cocked terrified eyes sideways at Krycek.

"I really must examine you, Fox." the physician said. He huffed impatiently at
Krycek, who nodded, then stood and placed a gentle hand on Mulder's head. "Come
on, Fox, he's not going to hurt you right now. He just wants to look. Lay down
flat. Come on." Mulder peered over damaged knees but didn't budge.

"Let's not do it the hard way." Krycek cajoled. He reached for the leash
hanging from his back pocket. Mulder narrowed his eyes, but acquiesced. He
lowered himself gingerly to a supine posture. Cringed helplessly as the
physician bend over him, prodded his wounds, took his temperature, listened to
his heart. He was sweating and shaking by the time the physician straightened.

"Very good." Falkenberg said, closing his bag. He's broken open a few of the
wounds, but nothing serious. You do need to keep a close eye on him tonight.
Watch for fever and hemorrhage."

Krycek expelled a loud breath when Falkenberg left. Squatted down next to the
cot and frowned at Mulder. "Fuck!" he exploded and pounded a fist on his thigh.
"I guess we gotta get you out of here."

*****

Krycek took out the surveillance cameras first. Just snuck beneath the cameras
and tilted them gently upward so they angled to the ceiling. He had full
security clearance, no alarms would blare. Why was he doing this? Slipped over
to the refrigeration units, where the antishock drug was stored. Slid open the
panel door. Mulder deserved everything he got. Not so much as an, 'Oh, sorry'
when he heard about his arm. Then he remembered Mulder's dark head twisting
back and forth, cuffed wrists and naked ass writhing beneath him. God, it had
been so hot. Snatched several vials of the experimental drug. He hesitated for
a few second, then reached for a few vials of morphine, too. He hoped it would
be enough.

Mulder's terrified eyes in the restraints had bothered him, moved him, somehow.

Pissed him off.

He couldn't watch the torture. Even after he's dreamed about it , fantasized
about it, shit, he's *arranged* it. And now, he was going to throw away
everything, his whole life, to undo it. Because he couldn't stand the fear in
Fox Mulder's eyes. He righted the cameras and left the lab.

When he returned to the cell, Mulder was watching him. He hunched down next to
the FBI agent. Mulder's eyes narrowed at the syringe he produced as Krycek
whispered, "It's morphine. Just a little. You need to be alert." Mulder
frowned, but nodded his agreement. Krycek took his forearm, rubbed his thumb
down the skin of Mulder's inner elbow, coaxing a vein. Injected a partial vial.
Mulder relaxed almost immediately, making Krycek smile in the dark. "I'm going
to find your clothes." he pocketed the syringe. "There's a shift change at 5:00
a.m., I think that's our best bet to get out of here."

"I don't get it."

"We're getting out of here."

"Why?"

"I don't know!" Krycek shouted. Shrugged. "I guess I feel guilty because I
didn't give you the courtesy of a reach around."

Mulder blinked.

"I can't let you go, you know that. Once we're out of here, we have to
disappear. Or we're dead men."

Mulder considered this. The image of Dr. Falkenberg arose in his mind,
scratching notes on his clipboard while a Tech carefully opened a slice in his
abdomen, the sinking pain eliciting futile screams. Faint nausea accompanied
the unbidden memory. He shuddered. "Okay."

*****

He woke to the clink and murmur of household noise and the smell of food. God,
he was hungry, was that garlic? Yes, definitely. He loved garlic.

Looked around then. Where the fuck was he? Wooden walls, rustic wrought iron,
plaids. He was tucked gently in on an overstuffed couch under a soft flannelly
comforter. Pillows behind his back. He pulled aside the comforter, saw the
thin, healing scab that ran from the bone on his outer wrist up his forearm and
elbow to disappear under the sleeve of his t-shirt. Rotated his arm and another
long healing cut rolled into view. He gagged as memory of the past four days
returned, downloading in perfect, linear order. Scully. Krycek.

Eddie. Dr. Falkenberg. Krycek.

Krycek entered, carrying a tray.

"Is that food?"

Krycek put the tray in front of Mulder, eyes crinkling in amusement at the
question.

Mulder ignored him, his attention riveted on the spaghetti and garlic bread in
front of him. Wolfed a huge bite of bread, it dangled out of his mouth as he
explained, "Hungry."

"You haven't eaten in at least four days."

Mulder nodded agreeably, small snorting noises escaping him as he chewed. And
shoveled.

"You have lovely table manners."

"Aren't you eating?" he asked around a mouthful of tomatoey pasta. Krycek
shook his head no, tossed off a finger of vodka. Smirnoff. The burning down his
throat closed his eyes in pleasure. Leaned back on the couch next to Mulder. He
listened companionably to the agent's smacking.

Mulder's eating sounds slowed, he burped low and long and rustled dished as he
set them aside. "Krycek..." he began.

"Hmmm?"

"Um...my injuries have healed...much faster than normal. It's because of that
drug, isn't it? You continued to administer it after we escaped, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I stole some of the drug." the younger man shrugged. "What about it?"

Mulder's lips twisted down. He didn't want to feel grateful to this man, who
among other things, left him to the tender mercies of sadists not once, but
twice. This man who fucking raped him. Did not want to be in his debt. Decided
he wasn't grateful, was not in his debt. Stood up. "Thanks for a great time,
but I gotta go."

Krycek surged to his feet. Nose to nose, both men stood with shoulders back,
chins and chests thrust forward. Portraits of aggression. Green eyes glittered
ruthless determination. "You're not going anywhere." Krycek threatened quietly.

"Out of my way, Krycek." Mulder's arm swept aside the younger man in a gesture
of disdain. Steel fingers sank into his retreating shoulder. He twisted, but
couldn't escape the unnatural strength of Krycek's left arm. His captor pulled
him back, shifted him into a headlock. Mulder's hands came up to detach the
grip, but he was hopelessly outmatched.

Krycek's other hand traveled down Mulder's chest to rest on his flat belly.
Fingers explored under his t-shirt, caressing smooth skin. The responding flare
in Mulder's groin terrified him. "Oh please! Don't!" he cried out, unsure
whether his plea was directed at Krycek or himself.

He felt Krycek's mouth on the back of his neck, felt the exploring hand move
downward. He continued to clutch Krycek's arm as his fly was opened expertly.
Krycek slipped his hand under the waistband of his jeans, found and gripped his
hardening organ. "I can't let you go, Fox, you know that." he breathed into
Mulder's ear. Pulled his cock and roughly coaxed it into rigidity. "If they
find you, they find me. And I threw away everything to get you out of there."
The hand continued, relentlessly squeezing up and down his shaft. He shivered
when Krycek pressed his erection against his ass. "You're mine, now."

Mulder tightened his grip on Krycek's arm. Krycek leaned into his neck, bit
down on it. Mulder gasped softly, closing his eyes. A disappointed sigh escaped
Mulder as Krycek's hand withdrew from his crotch. Fingers hooked into the
waistband of his jeans and pushed them down to his ankles. Mulder stepped out
of them. The other arm released the headlock. The palm pressed against the back
of his neck. Mulder bent under his guidance. "That's right, Fox, it doesn't
have to be rape this time. Pull your hands on the back of the couch.

"That's good. Now, spread your legs."

And Mulder did. Because it felt good. For once in his life, something felt
good and he wasn't going to think too hard about its meaning or the
consequences. He stiffened with remembered pain when he heard Krycek hawk into
his palm and felt his hand rubbing it into his ass crack. "It's okay, I won't
hurt you." Krycek murmured. When he was penetrated this time, he felt a
thrumming pressure, but no pain. Krycek moved with him tentatively, and each
careful push escalated Mulder's pleasure. Krycek curled over him and held him
close, establishing a rhythm. He was rocked back and forth, waves of sensation
rolling up through his groin and lower abdomen as each thrust came deeper and
faster.

He heard Krycek groan above him, then whisper, "I'm sorry, I gotta..." His
captor's hand once again found his throbbing cock and massaged it. The steady
rhythm of Krycek stroking his dick and thrusting into him was too much, and he
convulsed and shouted as the orgasm wrenched through him. Krycek clenched
suddenly on top of him, screaming his release.

They both relaxed, panting.

Krycek broke the spell by standing and withdrawing from him. Mulder collapsed
half naked onto the couch. He arranged himself into a sleeping position, pulled
the comforter over himself. Wasn't going to think about what just happened. He
was tired, he was hurt, he needed to rest. He shut his eyes tightly. A tiny
smile crossed Krycek's face and he stroked Mulder's hair out of his eyes.
"Mulder..." he began. Mulder ignored him.

Krycek retreated to the kitchen. Although he didn't want to explore the
reasons for his behavior, he could not convince himself that he didn't have
feelings for one Fox Mulder. And as much as he wanted to keep him here forever,
he couldn't. Mulder wanted to believe, dammit, not spend the rest of his days
idly fucking. He looked around the kitchen. This cabin was his bolt hole, his
last refuge. Then he shrugged. Mulder was the vulnerable one, not he. Alex
Krycek would find a way to survive.

Taking a final swig of vodka, he picked up the phone and dialed.

"Scully."

His throat actually caught briefly. Krycek took a quavering breath and said,
"Scully, Mulder's alive. This is where you can find him..."

*****

Using his binoculars, Krycek watched from a distance. Watched the blue Taurus
fly around the corner and screech to a halt, watched a petite red head and her
balding companion jump out and hurry into the cabin. Watched them assist a
tall, dark headed agent back to the car. The agent hesitated, scanning the area
as if looking for something. Krycek ducked slightly, enough to keep himself out
of sight. Finding nothing, the agent sat in the car and closed the door behind
him.

Krycek's face twisted with emotion, but whether it was a grin or a grimace, he
couldn't say. He sighed deeply and turned away, flipping the collar of his
leather jacket up around his ears for protection against the cold.

eeez done....

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On to Lesser Evils II: The Moose Strikes Back